


You Always Hurt The One You Love

by fairiel



Category: Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Captain America (Movies), the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: Anger, F/M, Minor Violence, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:44:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2393960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairiel/pseuds/fairiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt given to me by stormur: Bucky’s just brooding. And wants it. But doesn’t know how to go about it. Until he gets all rough and flustered and gaaah (in her own words). I don't know if what I've written fits the prompt entirely, but rough sex with Bucky, OMG yes</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Always Hurt The One You Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stormur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormur/gifts).



The night is falling down on New York City, red, orange and pink all fading in the distance, flaming in the sky. You look outside from your bay window on the last floor of Stark Tower. You can see your front door open in the glass of the window, the light in the corridor just a flash as Bucky quietly slips in your room. Sometimes he will just do that, come at night and stay with you. He doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t talk. He just silently asks you if he can sleep there with you and of course, there is no way you can say no. So he just spends the night in your bed, curled in the sheets, until he wakes you with his nightmares. When this happens, there’s nothing for you to do but comfort him the best way you can, holding him in your arms like a baby until he goes back to sleep, his face in the nook of your shoulder. A good thing it doesn’t happen every night, because you’re not sure how much more of this promiscuity you can take before something else happens.

As always, he closes the door without a word and just stands there, right behind you, his reflection a dark silhouette in the window pane, but for his metal arm gleaming ominously. You turn around and he pushes his hair away from his eyes, about to speak but as usual, words escape him and he only stares at you until you look back at the sky again.

You’re a bit surprised. It’s still early for him to be there. He usually comes in the middle of the night, when you’re already in bed and he slips under the blanket without asking for permission. But this is different. You can feel it in the air tingling around you. There is a tension you have never felt before, a pungent metallic smell coming from him that makes you hold your breath. You want to ask him what is wrong but are at a loss for words. He has that effect on you. It’s not that he makes you uneasy, but you never quite know what to say to him, especially when he looks preoccupied. And he definitely looks more than brooding tonight.

He clears his throat and you turn around again, expectant. Even in the faint dusk light, you can see the dark rings shadowing his eyes like patches of charcoal. They are more marked than usual, a clear sign he hasn’t been sleeping well lately. 

“Yes, Bucky?” you ask in a whisper, encouraging him to speak up.

He looks away in the distance, gazing at the flaming sky.

“You have the perfect view here” he answers.

Not quite what you expected. But then again, you never know what to expect from him. You reach out for him, thinking he might need some comforting. Your fingers gently brush the strands of sweaty hair from his face and he briefly leans into your touch before pulling away, a wild cat that doesn’t want to be petted. 

“Tell me” you urge him.

Opening up might do him good, but he just shakes his head, mumbling an answer you cannot decipher. From the corridor, you hear Steve’s voice calling after him, but Bucky quickly places his hand on your mouth with another shake of his head, a hushing sound deep in his throat. Clearly something is going on between them and there is no way you want to be tangled in that. You break free from his hand and make for the door but he swiftly catches your arm, his metal fingers enclosing your thin wrist, violently tugging you back. You barely repress a moan of pain as you land on his chest and his arms wrap tight around you, preventing you from moving. You raise your face to him, eyes glaring in the dark, ready with a sharp remark.

“Don’t” he whispers, breaking the silence for the first time.

Again, his hand muffles your mouth. You try to wiggle your wrist free but only manage to burn your skin on his tight grip. You whimper in pain against his palm. Steve’s voice becomes fainter and fainter but Bucky only releases you after long minutes of complete silence.

“Are you nuts?” you ask, cold fury in your eyes, rubbing the red skin of your wrist. “You hurt me. What is wrong with you?”

He lowers his gaze, frowning.

“Don’t ask” he growls as you open your mouth again to speak, putting two fingers on your lips to hush you again.

You take two steps away from him, eyes still glaring.

“I don’t care whatever happened between you and Steve” you say. “You hurt me. Look what you’ve done.”

You raise your wrist and in the last rays of the setting sun, he can see your mauled skin, the imprint of his fingers clearly etched on your flesh. He looks utterly abashed at what he has done. 

“I - I’m - ” he stammers. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you know you’re a genetically engineered super soldier?” you ask. “Can’t you control yourself? It hurts like hell!”

He looks at his metal hand with disgust, as if he wanted to get rid of it.

“I shouldn’t have - I’m sorry” he says again.

He looks so confused now that you suddenly feel bad for getting angry. It hasn’t been easy for Bucky to deal with returning to a normal life after all those years as the Winter Soldier. There are still some things about his past he hasn’t come to terms with. Things he doesn’t want to discuss with anyone, not even with Steve. If he snaps at times, it’s not entirely his fault.

“Well” you say. “I’m going to patch it. I think I have some cream in the bathroom.”

As you turn the light on to look for the cream in the bathroom drawer, you catch a glimpse of Bucky’s face. He looks like a ghost in the fluorescent light, the lack of sleep so evident it breaks your heart.

“Let me do it” he suggests when you finally find what you’re looking for.

You hand him the cream and he dabs it on your wrist, his touch gentle and careful. You smile at him as relief finally hits you. He puts the cream away, and smiles nervously back at you. His hand is still on yours, callused fingers softly caressing the back of it. The touch is not unpleasant and you gaze down, noticing for the first time the bulging veins on his hand and arm. He pulls his hand off fast as he realizes the direction of your gaze, embarrassment painted on his face. He gets up in a hurry, smashing his back on the shelves, knocking down the bottles stashed there. You don’t understand. You swear you could have seen desire in his eyes. His touch was certainly more than affectionate. So why run away?

You rush after him but he’s already at the door, about to leave. You can see his hand shake as he pushes on the handle. 

“Bucky, wait” you say, catching hold of his shoulder before he can definitely leave.

“No” he rasps.

“Why?” you ask.

He turns to face you, swallowing hard before he speaks.

“Clearly, it was a mistake coming to you all these nights.”

He looks utterly miserable, shoulders down, trembling chin, eyes confused.

“I don’t understand” you say, your heart wrenching in your chest at the sight of him so lost, so addled.

You reach for him, for his face, brushing his cheek with fingers as soft as butterfly wings. He heaves a loud shaky sigh before picking you up, lifting you from your feet. His fingers dig into your thighs and you wrap your legs around him as he crushes you on the door, his mouth searching hungrily for your neck. You gasp as your head hits the wood but his hot kisses on your neck make you forget the pain. You place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as he pushes further into you, his mouth moving along your jawline until it reaches your lips. He kisses you as if his life depended on it, as if it was his last day on this earth, grazing your teeth, hot breath all over your face, saliva mingling. You tangle your fingers in his hair and respond the same way.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks, his voice just a husky whisper, a trickle of saliva still hanging between both your mouths.

You fling yourself at him, wanting to feel his hot tongue deep inside of you again. You can feel his bulge in between your thighs as he pushes you even more into the door. You can’t think straight anymore. The only thing you know is you want him with an urgency you never felt before.

Still kissing you hard, he carries you to the living-room table where he sits you, knocking out the vase that falls to the floor with a loud crash. He doesn’t even care, undressing you as fast as he can. You can hear the fabric of your shirt rip as his hands and mouth search for access to your breasts. He takes his own shirt off in the blink of an eye, ruffling his hair in the process, making him even more desirable. You moan loud as his tongue licks every part of you he can find. 

“You like that, don’t you?” he says, finally stopping to look at you, all offered, all his for the taking.

“Yes” you sigh low.

“What about that?”

He bends on you again, his stubble scratching at your skin pleasantly. His teeth seize one of your nipples, biting it, tugging at it, and you cry out, closing your thighs on him.

“Oh, Bucky!”

You never knew that pain and pleasure could be so close but now you even beg for him to do it again. He indulges, biting you several times, making you moan louder each time. His mouth moves swiftly down your belly to your waist and he quickly removes the rest of your clothes. He pins you down on the table as you try to catch a glimpse of him undressing. You can only hear his belt clatter on the floor before he parts your legs even wider. His hand is still settled between your breasts but you try to get up anyway. He looks down on you before pushing you harder against the table.

“I’m going to say this only once. If there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable doing, just tell me no and I’ll stop.”

You only nod, wondering what he means as his fingers caress your thighs, stroking the soft and delicate flesh. You can feel his cock hovering over your entrance, the tip of it reveling in your wetness before thrusting into you violently. You cry out as he begins to pound you at a fast pace. Your hips smack together and the table begins to tremble. You fold your legs on his butt to push him even further into you.

“You like it like that, don’t you?”

You can only moan your approval before his hand moves to your neck. As his fingers tighten around your throat, you gasp for air. You almost say no when you feel your walls clench on him. His thrusts become slower, more precise. Your walls tighten even more with your ecstasy rising deep in your belly. 

“Fucks!” he groans, his hand leaving your throat to tweak your nipples.

With each long-drawn thrust, he brings you closer to the edge and your hands leave the edges of the table to settle on his waist, accompanying each of his moves.

He pulls out, telling you to turn around and lie on your belly. You comply without a word and he climbs on the table, kneeling behind you. He shifts your hips a bit to the side, forcing you to bend your legs. You rest on your elbows as he takes you again, his hands on each side of you. 

“Oh yes” you moan when his cock hits your spot.

Stars fill your head and you arch your back against him. All his thrusts elicit a loud “yes” from you. You close your eyes, concentrating on your pleasure. Nothing else exists but his cock inside you, and you almost beg him to let you have your release when the tremors hit you. You clench your hands on the table, letting the wave wash over you. 

“Yes, that’s it” you hear him say. “That’s my girl. Come for me.”

“But what about you?” you manage to say, feeling him pull out again.

“Don’t worry about me” he says, turning you again and lifting you up on his cock, thrusting fast and hard. You can’t even feel your own body anymore. His arm is holding your back and you can only wonder how long he can keep this up when all of a sudden he grunts with his own orgasm, jerking off deep inside of you. He lets go of you, gently leaning you down on the table.

“I’m sorry. It came faster than expected.”

He’s frowning, a bit flustered, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. You look at him quizzically.

“It felt different” he tries to explain. “It felt - I don’t know - better” he stammers.

You slide down from the table, a small smile on your lips.

“Come to bed, Bucky” you say. “This is not a mission. You don’t need to debrief.”

That night, just before you drift away, Bucky’s arms holding you close to him, the last thing you think about is how much self control he showed during sex and if that hurt wrist was the price to pay for that discovery, then you’re willing to pay it over and over again.


End file.
